To the Very End
by Suppi Cat
Summary: Over a thousand years ago, two wizards and two witches met, and they changed the course of magical history in Britain. Their names were Godric, Salazar, Rowena, and Helga...


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Disclaimer: I do not own Godric, Rowena, Salazar, Helga, Hogwarts, and anything else that belongs to J.K. Rowling. I do own Rane and Casan, and their parents.

Author's Note: Please keep an open mind when reading this story. Because the books have not allowed many clues as to the beginning of Hogwarts and it's founders, I have based this story on what little has been given. Most of it is personal opinion, and you may not agree with it, and it may be void if more background is given in later books. Therefore, I ask that you enjoy what I have written as a possible history. Please review; constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. 

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Chapter One: Meditations and Angry Words

It was Christmas Day night, and even inside the cathedral, the air was cold, and breath hung in the air like clouds of frost. The vast expanse in the center, where services were held, was dimly illuminated by the warm, eerie glow from hundreds of candles. Many were long, thin tapers, others were thick and shorter, but still hundreds more were small candles, all white, placed in holders flanking the alter. During the services that day, a worshiper could pay two copper coins, (for the poor and needy), and a candle would be lighted in their honor. Echoing throughout the colossal structure was the murmuring and ringing of the monks' singing. For all of Christmas Day they sang their beautiful, melancholy songs, praising the Lord's birth. 

Almost directly in the middle of the rows of benches was a solitary figure, his head bent low in prayer, and his cloak hugged tight around his broad shoulders. His tousled hair was the shade of light honey, and his skin, although it had probably been fair, was lightly tanned. His eyes were shut tight, but underneath their lids glistened tears, which sparkled like cruel jewels against the twinkling of the candlelight. His lips were barely moving; whispering endlessly. Almost a social outcast, he was alone because he feared to join service during Christmas. He had tried before, but because of certain "inequalities", he had caused some upsetting disruptions. He allowed himself in normal services when there weren't quite as many people and not nearly as many candles, but on Christmas and Easter, didn't arrive at the church until ten o'clock at night, when the building was deserted. Godric was an experienced wizard and he did know how to control his magic, most of the time. Unfortunately, his control had been stretched to the breaking point that past Christmas. 

There was another wizard in the town, by name of Salazar Slytherin. He was just a respected, wealthy man to most of the village, but to Godric, he was an immensely powerful sorcerer. Not that Godric Gryffindor wasn't. They were two of the greatest wizards to ever live, as far as they knew. Godric respected Salazar, and knew that they were in agreement over most issues, however, Godric had never really got along well with Salazar, and Salazar's feelings for Godric were far from amicable. Godric hadn't exactly found the reason why he disliked Salazar, which was very unhelpful. But in any case, that fateful Christmas had turned Godric into something of a nasty rumor, which would never be quelled. 

He remembered sitting near the front, waiting patiently for the priest to begin listening to the monks chant, when abruptly, the doors opened and a waft of unpleasantly cold air fell upon him. A man, taller even than Godric, who was a large five-foot-eight himself, walked gracefully down the aisle as if he was in no way disturbing the peace. His long, dark brown, almost black hair was streaked with gray, even though he was only twenty-eight. He held in his hand an ebony cane topped with a gold cap, on which was inscribed his initials. He wore tight, black pants that were tucked inside tall black boots. Over his chest he wore a white tunic, mostly hidden by a scarlet-satin shirt that buttoned up the front with large brass buttons. His shoulders were draped in an emerald-velvet mantle. 

The steel-gray eyes came right up to the row across from Godric, the place that he had always claimed as his own. But there, right beside the center aisle, a small family sat, their children wrapped in homemade shawls, the youngest one who must have been no older that two, eating a biscuit. The father was in the midst of trying to tell the child to put away the food, but the mother kept showing his hand away. The middle child was a boy, who was tickling the two-year old, and the oldest was a girl of about ten, who was sitting formally in her seat, her eyes transfixed upon the cross.

"Excuse me." said Salazar, his dark eyes staring at the young girl, and then travelling to the mother, and finally the father. 

"Yes, sir?" said the father, obviously oblivious to Salazar's dilemma.

"I believe this is my seat."

"Well, sir, there are other seats nearby," the father attempted in a soft-spoken voice. 

"Yes, but as it seems you do not understand, everyone has their own seat, and they do not appreciate it when someone takes their seat." Salazar was getting impatient.

The father gave a furtive glance down the row, but every spot was taken. 

"I'm sorry, sir-"

"I suppose, then, that you could move?" said Salazar, his lips tightening.

Godric looked around, but nowhere was a seat to be found that was large enough for the whole family. His eyes narrowed dangerously and rested on Salazar, who was emanating a palpable annoyance now. 

"I said, move." Salazar hissed.

The utter selfishness of what he was viewing angered Godric to the point that, without realizing it, he was clenching his hands into fists. Some of the candles around the room burned furiously for a few seconds, before going out. 

The father seemed to have realized that Salazar held some high importance, expressed by his wardrobe, that would enable him to choose (and retain) his seat. Godric knew this was a painful stretch of the truth, for really, aside from his wealth, Salazar held no leadership in the town. The father spoke some hurried words to his wife, who gave a quick, sharp look at Salazar, before gathering up the children and moving into the aisle. The service was about to start; they had to find a place to sit down. With a few sighs and more whispered phrases, the father agreed to stand in the back while the wife and children sat down. The only place for them was next to Godric. He quickly asked the couple adjacent to him if they would mind to move down a little for the family, and when they agreed, Godric stood up in the aisle and motioned for the family to sit down. They thanked him graciously, and though they moved tightly together to leave barely a foot of space for Godric to squeeze into, he declined, and walked to the back near the father. He realized they would need all the space they could obtain with three small children. 

As he turned to walk down the aisle, he made a point of staring at Salazar, and a second later, the fellow wizard stared back, his cold gaze framed by a small, taunting curve of his mouth. "Gave up your seat for a family of street-vendors? You ought to be ashamed, Godric. People will start talking, you know."

Godric could feel his fingernails biting his skin as he clenched his hands. He tried to breathe calmly, but all he could feel was the rapid beat of his heart. He wanted to smack Salazar. He couldn't have cared what status the wizard held, or what clothes he was wearing. To think he could do something so inconsiderate, and it hadn't been the first time. His breathing was becoming swifter as he stared intently at Salazar. "I'd hit you with your own cane, if I could. You'd deserve it. I've seen you kick people like those off your street in mid-winter because they were within a quarter-mile of you _mansion_." He said, emphasizing the last word bitterly. He didn't realize it, but candles all around the room were now flaring up and dying, and people were starting to notice.

"At least I don't invite just _anyone _into _my _home." Salazar whispered icily.

The words had stung. Godric spun on his heels to march of down the aisle, but it was too late. All around him, the remaining candles were emitting a fantastic shower of sparks. The priest and his company, completely unaware of the disturbance, were walking solemnly up the corridor towards Godric, the priest carrying a grand candle before him on a pole. The candle's flame suddenly burst as if hit by the flames of a hundred others, and it began showering the priest with small fireballs. The priest shouted and threw the pole to the ground before he knew what he was doing, and immediately began slapping his clothing, making an effort to stamp out the flames. The crowd was panicking and edging towards the walls, while the priest's company was trying to assist the priest and keep the cathedral from turning into chaos. At that moment, the candles around the room gave up their sparks and one by one died out. In less than a minute after the fiasco had begun, the cathedral was thrown into complete darkness. Pandemonium ensued, for no one could see what he or she was doing or where to get out. Children started crying and angry adults started yelling, mostly to seize the man who had started it all. 

Godric knew he could have produced a helpful glow in an instant with his wand, and frankly, so could have Salazar, but neither was going to risk death for the sake of people's sight. 

The fact that they were both wizards was a complete secret, and it was a necessity that that stayed. The Dark Ages, as they would come to be known, were times not fit for witches and wizards. If even the slightest hint slipped that a person held any unusual abilities, that person was destined for death. Fortunately, most of the time the accused didn't actually die- a simple spell caused them to live through a burning-at-the-stake, however, this was not always the case, as there were other methods of killing witches and wizards during that time. The torture, too, whether physical or mental, could not always be escaped. It was lucky, then, that Godric wasn't persecuted for the candle incident on Christmas. Salazar, as unfriendly as he was, aided Godric in the mass memory-charming of the people, and to any that they might have missed, it was let known that the draft had blown out the candles, and that the priest had simply tripped. 

So because of everything, Godric was here now, praying alone in the semi-darkness. He wasn't a very religious man, but it would seem highly suspicious for anyone to not come to service, whether it be Christmas or an odd day in the year. So he had said his prayers, performed Communion, and paid his two pense for a candle, before sitting down on the bench to plead with the world. 

"I see them everyday, Rowena. They do something…it upsets someone or everyone. And most of all, Rowena, it frightens _them_." Godric whispered. "They do not understand, Rowena! Some think they are strange, some even go insane. Only a few are intrigued, but that too is soon stifled, and they learn to hide their powers." He sighed before berating himself. "I feel like such a fool, sometimes. I seem to think I understand it all, that I can help them, and then my rashness and stupidity over-rule everything, and I start burning up priests." He almost laughed, despite the tears glistening on eyes.

A bell began chiming rhythmically from high above him. Twelve _dongs_ it rang before falling silent. The monk's signing faded into the night like the breath from Godric's lips. The candles were still lit, but by the morning they would be blown out. Godric stood up and wrapped his dark red cloak tight around him. A broach with his initials clasped the cloak just his neck, and a hood in the back would keep any snow or rain from his head. He wore simple clothing underneath of a wool tunic over muslin one, and tan pants stuffed into tall brown boots. A heavy gold ring on his ring finger was one of the few indications of wealth. He was not as wealthy as Salazar was, but he didn't feel the need to be, either. In his opinion, it wasn't Salazar ever did anything useful with his money anyway. 

He walked swiftly out the door of the cathedral, and stopped just outside, his clear, blue eyes surveying the landscape. A very fine dusting of snow was falling that was just beginning to stick to the frozen ground. The street was void of people, and the only sign of life was the dim lights coming from a few houses. As was usual, the majority of the population had retired to bed long before the midnight hour, because candles were expensive, and their wax must be saved. This was especially true for this area of town, which housed some of the poorer residents, such as the street-vendors. The merchants of other members of the middle-class lived a little north of where he was, and the rich lived on their manors outside of town. Godric lived on the edge of the village, whose name was Sudbury, in a fine, large house near Salazar. 

He walked up the street, his feet hitting the cobblestone with sharp _clicks_. He had only a short ways before he would reach where his horse was tethered. About twenty yards from that place, however, he heard voices that sounded like two young boys.

"I swear, I didn' do anythin'!"

"Yah, you lil' urchin, he'll wring your ears!"

"But, Cas, you saw me! I didn' do anythin'! You were just yellin' at me 'cause Mama was gon' be mad at me about bein' late, and I was yellin' at you, you saw! And then, it just happened! And the thing was so scared it just ran off! And I tried to catch it, you know I did; you tried too! That's what we got to tell 'im."

"You know he's not gon' believe a word o' that, and he'll have you beat good, 'specially if he's one of those clinkers, and he'll prob'ly have me beat too, cause I was here, which, I'll add, is your fault. If you hadn' been late, I wouldn' have to have gone and got you."

The first boy, who sounded a little younger, starting choking back tears. "But I didn' do anythin'!" he yelled for the third time. "I dun' know what happened." He suddenly stopped crying and gasped. "Cas, what if…what if they…do you think he'll…" 

"What?"

"No, no, he wouldn' do that, no…"

"Wouldn' do what? You know you'll get beat."

"No, Cas, much worse."

"Nah, not much worse than that, he'll know you're just a no-good street kid and you aren't worth anythin' to 'im. He'll just wring your ears, beat you, and then tell you to run off, along with lot's of ramblin' about how dirty and stupid we are."

"Yah, but Cas."

"God, what."

"Do you think…they'll call me…a _witch_?" and he whispered the last word so softly that it was only the cold, crisp air that let Godric hear it.

The other boy seemed to pause. "You can' say anythin' that will make 'im think that. You got ta take it like you were really dumb, and when you get beat real good for it, it will still be better than…yah. Do that. And don' tell anyone 'bout strange stuff. Not Ma, not Father. No one, ya hear?"

"I know, Cas, I know! I won' say anythin'. Nothin' at all, Casan! Just the truth, a little bended-like."

Godric paused a second longer, debating with himself as to what he should do. He could step out now, and maximize the boy's fears that he had heard their every word, or he could just keep walking like he knew nothing. After all, since he didn't have his horse any longer, he would just have to walk home anyway…but the younger boy intrigued him too much. He had to stop.

"Excuse me, have you seen a horse here? I left one here about two hours ago." he said calmly.

The boys blanched at his arrival, and every last ounce of color drained as he said those words. "Uh, uh, n-no, sir- I mean- yes, I…" was the stuttered reply from them. The younger one, who was small with dark hair, shifted uncomfortably, and tears were beginning to well up in his eyes. Suddenly, the older one, who was much taller with lighter hair, stepped on his foot pointedly.

"I mean, sir, yes, there was a horse here," said the younger boy.

"Do you know where it is?" asked Godric, choosing his words carefully.

The boy was trying very hard not to dissolve into tears. "N-No, sir."

"Why not? What happened?" said Godric, making sure he kept any anger from his voice.

"I-I don't know, sir. I was with my brother," he said, gesturing to the taller boy, "and something happened, and the horse got scared and ran off. We tried to get it back, sir, we honestly did, but we couldn't find it even though we searched a long time." He paused. "I understand you're really angry, sir. We'll do anything you want."

This was a deciding moment for Godric. He couldn't just let them get off without punishment, for two reasons. One, it would get around, and he hated gossip, especially when it was about him. (Besides, he already had enough people talking about him.) Two, although his heart wasn't entirely in it, since he was pretty sure he knew the reason behind the incident, it wouldn't be fair or justified to let them off easy. Even though it was an accident, his horse still _had _gotten away. 

"First, I ask that you both walk me to your home, where I shall explain to your parents what has happened, and they will deal with the situation as they see fit. Tomorrow, I would like to see you, Casan, and you, what is your name?" he asked, turning to the younger brother. 

"Rane, sir. But, sir, we don't have parents."

Godric glared at the boy in front of him. "Don't lie to me. I heard everything you said. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known your brother's name."

Rane swallowed hard and stayed silent.

"Now, take me to your home." commanded Godric, pointing before him so the boys would lead. He watched them closely as they walked, and noticed that they must be very poor street-vendors, if that at all. Casan walked with a little more dignity than Rane, which could be expected since Casan must be at least twelve. Even then, he was small and thin for his age, but still much taller than his brother was. Rane looked about ten, and he acted it as well, for he was not as sly and his demeanor was not as controlled as Casan's. Every now and then, he would reach behind him and rub his back, although Casan did nothing of the sort. Most likely, Rane got into trouble with the rich people, or "clinkers", much more often than Casan, and had paid dearly for whatever deed he had committed. 

"This is where we live, sir." said Casan, pointing to a dark, run-down building that barely looked better than a shack. Godric was not surprised, however. Most of the poor lived like this, or in far more lowly dwellings. He waited until Casan had knocked, and he and his brother had stepped inside, before entering. 

The "house" was no more than one main room where he entered, and probably one more above him on the second floor. This lower room contained all the daily activities of eating, washing, and congregating. There was a fireplace for cooking and cleaning, a scrubbed, wooden table for eating, and two lonely chairs separate from the table, with a candle sitting on a side-table next to one. A tiny anti-room to the side held shelves full of dried food, while the cooking area also held shelves containing more food, including a very low and unexciting assortment of vegetables; mostly potatoes. A frail-looking woman with dark hair up in a messy bun was sitting at the main table, peeling some of the aforementioned potatoes. A hacking sound from outside suggested that the father was chopping wood for the fire, which was burning brightly in the hearth, giving the only light and warmth into the otherwise dark and uninviting room. Godric spoke not a word, and waited to be introduced to the mother by her sons. 

"Ma, this is-er- what is your name, sir?"

Godric smiled a little, realizing his impoliteness. "Gryffindor."

The mother looked up, her eyes at first weary, but then lightening suddenly as she jumped to her feet. "Sir! I feel honored to have someone of such high standing in our home!" She curtsied, and then looked up at him, searching for approval.

Godric bowed, which made her cheeks flush red with embarrassment. 

"S-Sir, what may I do for you? You are welcome to anything I have." She was obviously confused about his appearance, but she tried not to let it show.

Godric heaved a sigh. "I regret to inform you that something unfortunate happened concerning your sons." He paused, and then continued, "I had tied up my horse and had walked to church. When I got back, my horse was gone, and Rane and Casan tell me that, although it was an accident, it was their fault." The mother shot the two a very hard look. "It appears that as they were walking past the horse, something, which neither can explain happened, and the horse ran off out of fright. They did try very hard to find the horse, but they were unsuccessful. I pray that you will not be too harsh on them, as it was an accident. However, it repayment, I ask that they meet me tomorrow in the Square, so that I may talk to them."

Casan and Rane looked apprehensive about the proposed meeting, but they shifted even more uncomfortably as their mother turned on them. 

"You…what?" she asked, her voice a deadly whisper. 

"What he said, Ma."

"You…" she was lost for words. "You lost a nobleman's horse?"

"Er, yes."

Godric didn't feel very comfortable either, so he gave a quick bow and said his good-byes.

"Yes, certainly, my lord, and I will send them to you tomorrow. They shall meet you at noon on the Square."

"Thank-you, and good-night."

"Good-night and Godspeed, my lord." She closed the door, and rounded on the boys with greater fury. "I can't _believe_ what you did! You just wait until your father hears about this! That kind, I say, incredibly kind nobleman; and you lost him his horse!"

"But he told you, Ma, it was an acc-"

"Be quiet! I don't care what it was, the point is that it happened, and I daresay you'll be in a right state after I'm through with you both!"

Casan and Rane winced.

"You especially!" she said, turning to Casan. "You, the elder brother! I would have expected better of you! You should have kept a closer watch on Rane!"

"But, Ma! He was the one who did it!"

"That doesn't matter!" 

Her anger was causing such a noise that the father came in, brushing himself off and looking curiously at the cause of commotion. He had hair more the color of Casan's rather than Rane's, and he was tall and thin, but strong looking. He made his wife look even more delicate in comparison, but after her tirade, it was easy to see that her appearance meant nothing. "What's this, Penelope?" he asked, almost pleasantly, his brown eyes moving from his wife, to his two sons.

"They lost a nobleman's horse, Richard! He's just been by to drop them off, and I say, I'm surprised he didn't beat them on the spot! They should feel lucky!"

The father's eyebrows raised. "This is true?" he asked Rane and Casan.

"Yes, Father, but it was an accident." said Casan.

"In what way?" he said calmly, although the boys were well aware of the anger in his voice.

"Well, I was just-" started Rane, but Casan stepped on his foot so hard that Rane almost cried out. Richard flicked his sharp gaze to Casan.

"He was just being foolish, Father. I'm sorry, I should have made him be more careful."

"I see…" Richard seemed disbelieving. "Go upstairs- no dinner tonight- I'll be up in a minute."


End file.
